


Google It

by Devereauxs_Disease



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Delete your browser history Hanners, Fluff and Crack, Idiots in Love, It is...informative, M/M, Will looks at Hannibal's search history
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-05
Updated: 2018-07-05
Packaged: 2019-06-05 23:09:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15181406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Devereauxs_Disease/pseuds/Devereauxs_Disease
Summary: Will knows that Hannibal is checking up on his Google searches, so he decides to check up on his cannibal's inquiries. Will Google searches bring them together or tear them apart?Delete your browser history, kids!





	Google It

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ishxallxgood](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ishxallxgood/gifts).



> Not posting on my customary Wednesday, because the 4th of July set me back...But here's a silly little crack fic a day late. 
> 
> This is the fault of Ishxallxgood, who told me I had to write this doofy fic. 
> 
> All my love to Gwilbers for fixing my myriad of mistakes.

          Sometimes, Hannibal Lecter’s manipulations were so subtle and sprawling that Will felt like he was trying to unravel a gordian knot made of spider’s silk. He would take years to reach his goal, altering the course of events with a seemingly off-handed comment or a slight action that seemed inconsequential until viewed as part of a larger scheme.

Other times, he bought a fucking desktop computer.  

          It was a pretty obvious manipulation. Instead of his tablets, Hannibal had chosen to clutter the desk in the study with a computer tower and large monitor. _I couldn’t find a tablet I liked_ Hannibal had told him, face passive and eyes burning with challenge.

          It was bullshit. Of course, everything that came out of Hannibal’s mouth was some form of bullshit, but this seemed especially galling.

          There were plenty of fancy tablets, and the WiFi signal in Buenos Aires was strong; this was Will’s punishment. A communal computer so Hannibal could keep track of his browsing, make sure he wouldn’t change his mind about their mutual connection and try to sever it again.

          The empath understood Hannibal’s fears, but chaffed at the distrust. He had been the one to haul Hannibal from the water, pounding on his chest until the doctor gasped back into the world. Will had been the one to splint Hannibal’s mangled leg, and hold the poor woman at the deserted clinic in El Paso hostage until she had x-rayed and reset it. He’d killed two border guards and a coyote without a second thought as he brought them safely beyond Jack Crawford’s reach. He’d learned how to cook, picking his way through Julia Child’s recipes and the fresh produce in the stands of Mercado Solidario Bonpland, just so he could bring Hannibal a tray of slightly singed Sole Meunière and watch the doctor smile at him through each bite.

          When Hannibal had been well enough to limp into the kitchen, Will had been the one to make sure it was fitted with seasoned cast iron and the best knives he could find. He had stood by Hannibal’s side, nicking his fingers with sharp knives as he eagerly took on the role of sous chef. He’d even brought home fresh meat from a rude man at a local café as a special treat.

          Will had thought he’d made himself clear. Thought Hannibal had seen. But now, he was left with this fucking desktop computer. One computer for them to share. One computer for Hannibal to check up on. One computer that would allow Hannibal to pore through Will’s search items and study his every keystroke.

          Hannibal could have just fucking asked. Will would have shown him. Hell, Will would have agreed to be one of those creepy couples that share an email account, if only Hannibal had fucking asked. Will was getting used to the idea of Hannibal invading his most intimate of spaces and thrilled at the chance to do some invading of his own.

          Still, this naked bit of distrust rubbed Will raw. For the first week that the computer sat on Hannibal’s desk, Will refused to use it. The second week, Will decided to offer Hannibal some interesting insights into his mind.

_Cliffs near Buenos Aires_

_Best fast food in Buenos Aires_

_Single women in Buenos Aires_

          Will typed the final one with a mean smile twisting his mouth. Let him fucking worry.

          Three days later, Hannibal had said nothing about Will’s search history. The empath had been ready, listening for any hint of annoyance in Hannibal’s voice or any pointed remark. But none had come.

          If anything, Hannibal had seemed oddly agreeable. They spent their afternoons performing Hannibal’s physical therapy exercises. Will the steady constant next to Hannibal’s side, ready to catch him should he waver while practicing a one-legged lunge. Hannibal would tighten his mouth whenever his body didn’t behave as he instructed, and Will realized how hard it must be for a man so used to controlling the universe to be unable to control his left knee.

          Will began to talk whenever he saw Hannibal’s mouth twitch. He’d talk about missing Maryland blue crabs, or how Louisiana had the best shrimp dishes he’d ever tasted, or the time his father tried to teach him to cast and Will had ended up hooking a neighbor lady in the ass. Hannibal’s mouth would relax and Will’s chest would brim with pride and his fingers would grip his doctor a little tighter.

          After two weeks of no response to his Google searches, Will got curious. Had Hannibal not checked? Had he dismissed them as provocations? But the bigger question that kept buzzing at the back of Will’s mind was – what was Hannibal searching for?

          Will waited until Hannibal took the Jag to town before running to the study. He turned on the computer and immediately went to the Google account. Hitting _search history_ and setting the time frame for two weeks, Will found himself tapping his fingers eagerly as he awaited the results.

_Traditional Louisiana Foods_

          Will grinned. That explained the étouffée that had been served to him last Monday. Hannibal had shooed him out of the kitchen before dinner and looked so proud when he laid the dish in front of Will that the empath didn’t have the heart to tell the doctor that he really didn’t care for étouffée. Will had smiled through every bite, telling Hannibal about the dishes his father used to make, when he wasn’t working the late shift.

          That probably explained the next search - _pain perdu_. Will had felt a tickling at the back of his throat when Hannibal placed a plate of egg washed griddle toast in front of him, along with fresh lemon curd from their tree in the backyard. He’d smiled so wide, he almost dumped coffee down the front of his shirt before remembering he’d have to close his lips around the mug.

          There were a few banal searches that were perfectly Hannibal. He’d looked up the location of several antique stores, found a tailor with excellent customer reviews, and sourced the best fish monger in Buenos Aires. But there were other searches that earmarked Will’s presence in Hannibal’s life.

_How to remove Doritos residue from antique furniture._

_What is a Spaghetti O?_

          Will leaned on his hand, smiling into his palm. He should be glad there was no search for a convenient burial spot after he left a cool ranch grease print on the silk divan. It occurred to him that, like the divan, he’d left an indelible mark on Hannibal’s life. Would Hannibal Lecter have ever thought to learn about canned pasta with cut up hotdogs in it if he’d never encountered Will? If someone had even suggested the concept to Hannibal, they’d likely be turned into an artisan meatball. But somehow, Hannibal had decided that Will was worthy of a search for more information.

          Will’s heart did a funny little double beat as he processed that information. It stopped all together when he saw the final search in Hannibal’s history: _Local dog shelters._

* * *

 

          Will hadn’t been surprised when Hannibal came home with a scruffy mutt. He also hadn’t been surprised when Hannibal took an immediate dislike to the thing. It shat on carpets, it ate Italian leather loafers at an astounding rate, and it was big enough to clamp its jaws on the refrigerator door and open it.

          When they had returned home from a gallery opening, Will had been a little tipsy and was considering finally lowering his hand from its customary place on the small of Hannibal’s back to a location decidedly south. He had just about found the courage to move his hand down to the swell of flesh that haunted his dreams when he heard Hannibal gasp.

          “I’m sorry! I was just…I didn’t mean-” And then Will saw it.

          Their stainless-steel refrigerator was gutted, there was no other word for it. The door hung open, listing slightly off its hinge. Viscera of food and packaging spilled from it. Hannibal’s fish marinade had been one of the first to go if the smell was anything to go by. But all the fresh meats and produce they had safely stored from their morning trip to the market had been rended, consumed, or yanked from the cool confines of the fridge.

          In the middle of the carnage lay Faust, peacefully snoozing on a pile of half-chewed lettuce.

          “Take that thing and go.”

          “Hannibal-”

          “Will, I need you to remove it from my sight this instant.” Will grabbed Faust by his collar hauling the sleeping dog up. He shook his massive head as he woke, slinging drool across the kitchen and onto Hannibal’s shoe. The doctor made a noise in the back of his throat and Will wondered if the big white lummox would survive the night.

          “You know…no one told you to name him Faust.”

          “OUT!”

          That night Will sat next to his bedroom door, listening to pots clanging in the kitchen and Lithuanian epithets shouted as Hannibal put his kitchen in order. Faust didn’t seem that worried about his imminent death, lying next to Will and farting  while he snored.

          For two days, Faust and Will creeped around corners and stayed away from the angry cannibal in the kitchen. On the third day, Will ordered a bungee cord and though it didn’t match the tea towels, Hannibal allowed him to install it, lest they have a repeat of the kitchen massacre. Will had almost thought the episode forgotten when he woke up alone.

          Will whistled. He called out for the dog. Then, he called out for Hannibal. Neither were in the house, apparently.

          Will felt something sink in the pit of his stomach. He ran to the computer and logged on. He hadn’t checked Hannibal’s search history in weeks, but he was starting to worry.

          The first entry made Will cringe.

_Ways to kill dog and make it look like an accident._

          “Fuck.” Will kept scrolling, hoping Hannibal hadn’t gone on Amazon to order lye.

_Dog with problem behaviors._

_Training a dog to stay out of the kitchen._

          Will sighed, feeling the tightness in his chest release a bit. At least he had moved on from dog murder. He could just picture Hannibal on a dog behavior forum, bemoaning the loss of sushi grade yellowfin and homemade beer.

_Training a dog to hunt._

          Will snorted. He pictured Faust in one of Hannibal’s murder suits, drooling as he helped the doctor drag a body. He wondered if dogs could leave traceable DNA at crime scenes, and if it mattered – he doubted there was a doggy CODIS.

_Training a dog to wipe feet._

          Will cackled. Hannibal hadn’t even trained Will to wipe his feet every time he entered the house, but it was nice that Hannibal still had grandiose plans.

          _Bonding with dog._

_How to ingratiate yourself to a dog._

_Does my dog like me?_

Will paused in his scrolling. Why the hell hadn’t Hannibal just asked him? The answer came to his mind almost as swiftly as the question had: Hannibal didn’t want Will to know he hated the dog. He’d be afraid Will would pick the dog and resent him for not bonding with it. There was some truth to that, Will had to admit, but he hated the idea that Hannibal hadn’t let him help.

          _Dog parks in Buenos Aires._

_Homemade dog treat recipes._

Will bit his lip. That was his man, always trying to find a gourmet solution to life’s problems. If he couldn’t win you over by making you a meal, he’d simply make you into a meal and move on with his day. Of course, Hannibal would make Faust treats.

          The door opened and Will heard paws clattering on the wooden floors. He quickly turned off the computer and made his way to his boys.

          “If you can’t learn a modicum of restraint there’s no point in me taking you to the park,” Hannibal lectured. Faust wagged his tale frantically, front paws hopping with excitement that he was getting attention. “Yorkies are not squeaky toys and you are a very bad dog.”

          Will huffed out a laugh and both Hannibal and Faust started. “A very bad dog?”

          Hannibal puffed out his chest. Will pretended not to notice the slight blush on his cheeks. “First this creature dragged me all over the parking lot as though he’d never been on a leash before. He wouldn’t fetch. I have no idea where the tennis ball went, but he did not return with it. He did some disgraceful things to a spaniel, and then the spaniel owner’s leg. Not to mention tossing a small dog into the air like he was going to eat her whole.”

          “I wonder where he could have learned cannibalism,” Will tried unsuccessfully to hide his smile when Hannibal glared. “Did the Yorkie survive?”

          Hannibal nodded, glancing down at Faust. The doctor bent to unfasten the beast’s leash. “Yes, it was a superficial wound, but we are now committed to taking Juan and Camila to dinner, though they were quite gracious about their dog nearly being consumed.”

          “Least we could do, really.”

          “No, the least we could do is train this miscreant to behave with a modicum of-” Hannibal froze when Will wrapped him in a tight hug.

          Pulling back, Will kept his eyes down. He could feel his face heating up. “Thank you.”

          “For hating your dog?”

          “For making an effort,” Will looked up. “With our dog. It, well, it means a lot to me.”

          Hannibal straightened slightly in the empath’s grasp, preening under his gaze. He deflated completely when Will pressed a quick kiss to his cheek and released him.

          “I should probably take Faust out back, work on those obedience commands.” Will caught Hannibal’s eye, the doctor looked dazed. He nodded jerkily as Will and Faust retreated to the back yard.

* * *

 

          In ten weeks, Will had managed to teach Faust how to sit, stay, roll over, and to drop a small dog from his gaping maw. Though training was going relatively well with Faust, it was slower going with Hannibal. He had thought about kissing Hannibal then giving him a glass of wine as a reward, but knowing Hannibal, he’d just complain that white wine didn’t pair well with surprise kisses. After weeks of gentle coaxing, Will seemed no closer to the kiss and bedding he was hoping for whenever Hannibal entered a room.

          He hadn’t exactly been subtle about it.

          He’d started touching Hannibal as much as he possibly could. He’d made a game of it – touching Hannibal as many times as he could during a meal, then trying to beat the record. He’d sling an arm around Hannibal’s shoulders when they watched Faust play in the backyard. When they read in the evenings, Will would be sure to sit next to Hannibal on the couch and let his head rest on the doctor’s shoulder. It was awkward as hell to read like that, and his neck was always sore for a few hours after, but damn it, he had a mission.

          Hannibal had noticed the flirting, of that Will was sure. Hannibal had developed a little furrow in his brow whenever he looked at Will. The empath wanted to bite at the divot, lick it smooth until he was sure no thought was running through that giant terrifying brain but _Will_. But the furrow appeared more and more, like Will had suddenly become some unworkable problem that Hannibal had to solve. He pictured a list of equations written next to the doctor’s time travel theorems, all of which were dedicated to trying to unravel Will Graham throwing his arm around him.

          There was one way to find out. Will asked Hannibal to run to town, to get more ingredients for dog food. They hadn’t needed dog food in the morning, but when Will fed Faust five times his normal serving size for breakfast, they had mysteriously run out. Faust didn’t seem to mind helping Will get Hannibal out of the house, sleeping lazily in the sunny patch of the foyer, farting up a storm.

          The second he heard Hannibal’s car start, Will ran for the study. He turned on the computer and eagerly clicked into the _search history_ on the Google account page.

          _Flirting patterns of American males._

Will choked on air. Jesus, he sounded like some sort of endangered butterfly Hannibal was studying. He wondered if all those sketches Hannibal did were actually entries in a field journal.

          _Is increased physical contact between two male friends flirting?_

“Yes, idiot,” Will muttered. Apparently, Hannibal Lecter wasn’t as adept at interpreting human behavior as he thought. He was usually so confident, so sure of himself. Will felt a little thrill run through his spine. He made Hannibal nervous, threw the world’s most unflappable man off his game. There was something deeply satisfying about that knowledge.

          _Will Graham – history of male lovers_

That made Will’s eyebrows shoot up. There hadn’t been any, at least, Will had never had any – Christ only knows what the internet had to say about that. He clicked the link that Hannibal had followed and sighed. Freddie fucking Lounds, of course. There was an exposé on Will’s lascivious gay past, evidently. Will couldn’t wait to find out who he’d slept with.

          Will scanned the article, looking at a picture of Matthew Brown under the headline _Everyone Got a Piece of the Graham Cracker_. Below was an account of sordid goings on in shadowy corners of mental hospitals. Will didn’t doubt that he could have gotten his hand on Matthew’s dick if he had tried – but honestly, who would want to? The other man in the article Will didn’t even recognize – someone he apparently went to college with.

          “Jesus, Lounds.” Will made a mental note to bump Freddie up to the top of the murder list. Hannibal had better have seen through this bullshit. He went back to the search history.

          _Freddie Lounds current location._

_Freddie Lounds contact information._

Will clapped his hands. That was his man, already planning to serve Freddie’s tongue to him on a silver platter, he had no doubt. He remembered Hannibal saying he was planning a trip in a month, somewhere in Miami, where he had found a chatty lamb. There was no way in hell Will wouldn’t be going now.

          Getting back to Hannibal’s search history, he scrolled to the most recent entries.

          _Murder Husbands_

There was a link to TattleCrime, and a TattleCrime forum. Had Hannibal been chatting with people on a forum, or just watching conversations?

_Murder Husbands Fan Fiction._

_Murder Husbands Explicit Fan Fiction._

_Murder Husbands Frottage_

_Murder Husbands blood play._

Will’s brows raised. A few sites popped up and Hannibal had apparently saved a few links to a site called AO3. He clicked the first link and felt himself blush as he read the summary.

          _Hannibal and Will on the run in Cuba discover that, in a pinch, blood is excellent lube._

“Well.” It looked like Hannibal was interested, at least. He looked up in the corner of the site and saw that Hannibal had actually created an account. “Dante’s Dinner, Jesus fucking Christ, Hannibal.”

          Will was somewhat disappointed to find that Dantes_Dinner didn’t have any works published on the site, but he was an avid reader. There were ten pages of bookmarks to sort through. Will poured himself a whiskey and settled in – he clearly needed to catch up on his reading.

          Three hours later Will was sniffling in front of the computer. There were a few fics bookmarked by Hannibal that were a bit kinkier than he was ready for. He wasn’t sure he’d ever be ok with knifeplay – he and Hannibal had never had great results when they played with knives together. He absently rubbed at his smile, feeling the puckered skin through the fine fabric of his shirt.

          But many of the fics had been sweet, sentimental even. Apparently, Hannibal Lecter had a soft spot for metaphor laden seductions and slow kisses in exotic locales. Will didn’t have a problem with that, actually. He could use a good kissing or maybe an orgasm or two in Paris – he wasn’t picky.

          When he heard the door open and Faust barking excitedly, Will grinned. He began typing furiously.

* * *

 

          Hannibal frowned when Will failed to greet him at the door. He had thought they were growing close in the past weeks, but Will hadn’t even come to help him with the groceries. He scratched at Faust’s ears.

          “You are not supposed to be in the kitchen,” Hannibal admonished. The dog panted happily, leaning into Hannibal’s fingers. “Since you’re here, you might as well be useful. Where is your father?”

          Faust woofed softly before scrambling toward the study. Hannibal frowned. Will had barely entered the study since Hannibal had installed the desktop computer. His empath had petulantly searched a few items just to provoke Hannibal, then seemed to lose interest in the computer. The last thing he searched, as Hannibal recalled, was _dog agility kit_.

          As Hannibal padded toward the study, he could hear Will typing furiously. Hannibal tilted his head, as if he could discern the words Will was using by listening to the clicks of the keyboard.

          Knocking once, Hannibal opened the door. Will looked up, smiling brightly. He clicked a button and the screen went blank.

          “There you are, Will.” Hannibal smiled, but the expression never reached his eyes. “What are you up to?”

          “Hmm?” Will tilted his head and grinned. “Just…Googling some stuff.”

          “Did you find what you were looking for?”

          Will laughed. “I think I did. Let’s hope it arrives on my doorstep soon, huh?”

          Hannibal opened his mouth to ask another question, but Will stood and stretched, a tantalizing glimpse of the empath’s smile peeking out from under his shirt froze Hannibal’s words in his mouth.

          “I’m going to go upstairs,” Will announced. There was something playful in Will’s eyes that made Hannibal shiver. He felt like prey, it was unsettling, but a bit exciting.

          Will winked as he brushed by Hannibal to get out the door. Hannibal held his breath, waiting until he heard Will’s plodding stride on the steps before diving for the computer. He immediately opened up their Google account and clicked on _search history_ , his heart beating wildly in his chest.

          _Gay sex for beginners_.

          Hannibal’s mouth fell open.

          _Giving blowjobs without gagging_

_Is gagging good for blowjobs?_

_How much lube is needed for anal sex?_

Hannibal felt light headed, but he kept scrolling.

          _How to get an idiot to kiss you_

_How to seduce a cannibal._

Hannibal felt his mouth curving. His Will was not always elegant, but he always got the point across.

          _Does Hannibal Lecter want to fuck?_

_Seriously, Hannibal, stop reading and come upstairs!_

          This couldn’t possibly be so easy. Hannibal had spent years trying to get Will into bed and now he was just there, waiting for him?

          Hannibal opened Google.

          _How to tell if a seduction gambit is a trap._

          “HANNIBAL? I CAN HEAR YOU TYPING!” Came a voice from upstairs. “THIS IS NOT A GODDAMN GOOGLE SITUATION!”

          Hannibal rubbed his mouth, feeling the curve of his smile in his palm. He opened up his email and began to compose a missive to the hotel in Miami. It looked like perhaps two rooms would be unnecessary.

          "GODDAMN IT GET UP HERE OR MY NEXT SEARCH IS FOR A DATING APP!"

          Hannibal saved the email as a draft and ran upstairs.


End file.
